


The Dinner Party: An Opening Salvo

by ProxyOne



Series: The Public Sex Chronicles [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dinner Party, Footsie, M/M, Secret Relationship, kitchen hand jobs, the war is declared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7542661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProxyOne/pseuds/ProxyOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The table is set, the guests have arrived, and Will is ready to begin. Ever since the day he (rather foolishly, but he also can't blame himself, either) allowed Hannibal to give him a blow job under his desk at Quantico, he's been itching for his revenge. And tonight, he will get it.</p><p>A follow up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7490922">Workplace Fun</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dinner Party: An Opening Salvo

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be writing my Big Bang entry, and yet here we are.

The table is set, the guests have arrived, and Will is ready to begin. Ever since the day he (rather foolishly, but he also can't blame himself, either) allowed Hannibal to give him a blow job under his desk at Quantico, he's been itching for his revenge. And tonight, he will get it.

He takes his seat opposite Hannibal's, waits while everyone else seats themselves too. And it is everyone; Jack, Alana, Beverly. Hell, he'd even managed to convince Hannibal to invite Frederick and Freddie Fucking Lounds. He had been sure that insisting she be there would tip Hannibal off that something was up, but he had only smiled indulgently at him and acquiesced without a single word of argument. Will can only assume that it's because Hannibal is pleased that he's making an effort to be more social, to take part in his own interests. He smiles at Mrs Komeda, a woman he has only met before in passing, but her eyes glitter as she inclines her head towards him.

Hannibal finally enters the room, his arms laden with an enormous tray of food to place in the centre of the table, the side dishes already arrayed around it. He lowers it with a flourish, his eyes darting towards Will's for just a fraction of a second, but a fraction of a second is all it takes for him to feel warmth spreading through his core. He's already half-hard just with anticipation, and right now they're still at a stage in their relationship that the subterfuge, the sneaking around to make sure they hide it from everyone else, is more than just a bit of a turn-on. The sheer _illicitness_ is leaving Will in a permanently semi-aroused state. He's reasonably sure that it's having the same effect on Hannibal.

He waits patiently while Hannibal begins serving, bouncing his leg slightly to expel the building up nervous energy. Finally, after what seems an age but is only a few minutes, Hannibal sits down, and the assembled company begin to eat. Will eats, too, taking a mouthful and smiling at Hannibal. Hannibal returns the smile, just slightly, and after the first few moments when everyone savours their first tastes of the food, group conversations begin.

Will waits until Hannibal is engrossed in conversation with Jack beside him, then silently, carefully, slips off his shoes. He reaches for his glass of wine and takes a sip, half listening to something Brian and Jimmy are talking about. He's pleased that most people are used to him now, and are happy to let him sit in silence rather than dragging him into their own conversations. He holds the glass to his lips now, and without looking at Hannibal at all he slowly raises one foot. He can feel Hannibal stiffen in surprise as his toes trace their way up Hannibal's leg, but he has to give him credit for the way his speech does not falter. Will can't help but smirk into his drink as he steals a glance at Hannibal. It really is admirable, the way that his façade has not cracked at all. His legs, however, are telling a different story. Instead of the calm, collected exterior that Hannibal is portraying to everyone else, his legs are alternating between opening to allow Will better access, and closing to prevent him from going any further.

But oh, how Will plans to go further.

He wiggles his socked toes, just a little, and he feels the way Hannibal's muscles twitch beneath his perfectly pressed dress pants. He lifts his foot further, Hannibal's legs widening a little more. He's running his foot along the inside of Hannibal's thigh, now, nudging his foot further and further up in the slowest increments he can manage. He stabs a piece of meat onto his fork as he gets closer to his intended goal, sucking it slowly into his mouth when Hannibal finally flicks a glance his way.

“Are you okay, Will?”

Alana looks concerned, and Will turns his head slowly to look at her. He keeps his foot where it is, not continuing on his path, but by no means withdrawing, either.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Why do you ask?”

“You just looked like you were a million miles away. Work on your mind?”

“Something like that,” he says, taking another sip of his wine.

“I must admit, I'm surprised to see you here. Normally Hannibal says he's invited you, but you're not able to come.”

“Well, I did owe Hannibal. It would be rude to remain in someone's debt, and making a show here seemed the best way to repay him.”

Alana looks at him then, an odd look on her face, and Will can't exactly blame her. She must be dying to ask what debt needs repaying. They are interrupted, however, when he hears a small cough from across the table.

“The wine seems to be getting low,” Hannibal says abruptly, his eye contact with Will steely, yet heated. Will wonders if anyone else can notice it. “Would you mind getting some more from the kitchen, Will?”

Will is trying to think of a non-obvious way to get out of it, but Alana saves things for him.

“I can grab that for you!” she says brightly, already standing even as Hannibal begins protesting. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

“I know the feeling,” Will murmurs into his glass, taking the opportunity to shift his toes to where he wants them and _oh yes_ , there it is. Hannibal is more than just half hard, in there. Will runs his foot over Hannibal's cock and smirks again when his hips give an involuntary shift forward. Will watches Alana leave the room and smiles brightly at Hannibal.

“She's such a helpful friend, isn't she, Hannibal?” he says. He's curious as to what Hannibal will do about this. It doesn't take long until he gets his answer, Hannibal looking him directly in the eye and then opening his legs completely.

“Indeed she is, Will.”

His voice is calm, and there's no way that anyone would be able to tell what was going on right now. Will decides to see how far he can push it. He presses a little harder with his toes, running them up and down Hannibal's hard length, relishing the feel of it twitching beneath him.

“This is amazing, Dr Lecter,” says Beverly, holding up a forkful of food.

“Tell me again why you never invite us?” asks Jimmy immediately after, the two of them joining with Brian to pepper him with questions about the food, about what they have to do to get themselves invited more often, and Will takes his opportunity. He lifts his other foot and slides the toes, not too gently, under Hannibal's balls, his other foot maintaining its soft kneading movement on Hannibal's cock. And ah, yes, there it is, the hitch in Hannibal's breath as he speaks, the ever so slight tightening of his fingers on his knife and fork. His hips jut forward then, lifting just enough to allow Will better access. Will obliges, working both his feet until he finds just the right spot, the one that always has Hannibal finally letting go. It's fascinating, watching the two sides of Hannibal warring with each other, one side _needing_ to maintain his carefully polished image, and the other trying desperately to force him to just give it up. There are fine beads of sweat beginning to form along his hairline, and _god_ if it isn't turning Will on, watching Hannibal slowly come undone but be entirely unable to do anything about it.

Alana chooses to return with two bottles of wine just then, placing them on the table in front of her.

“Maybe you should give everyone a top up, since you wanted the wine?” Will says casually, popping another forkful of food into his mouth. He sees the heated, fraught look Hannibal gives him before he reins himself back in.

“No, I'm sure -” Hannibal begins, but is promptly interrupted.

“No, I believe Will is correct,” Frederick says, his smarmy face obviously riling Hannibal up if the tensing of his muscles is anything to go by. “I do believe it is only proper for the host to distribute the wine, especially if he is the one who provided it.”

He waves his empty glass around then, and it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's more than a little drunk. Will withdraws his feet and smiles innocently at Hannibal, then holds his own glass out.

“Very well,” Hannibal murmurs, and while to anyone else it likely seems a perfectly placid response, Will is only too aware of the tenuous grip Hannibal has over himself at this moment. He stands. Will is disappointed to see that between the length of his suit jacket, and the way he is minutely hunched over the table as he leans to pour each proffered glass, that his very prominent hard on is hidden. Still, he pours much more quickly than he normally would, and is seated in what Will feels sure must be record time.

“You're looking a little peaky there, Dr Lecter,” remarks Freddie. Will knew he could count on her to make some sort of inappropriate comment, and there she is, right on time.

“I assure you, Ms Lounds, I am just enjoying the company. Even yours,” he replies, his gaze flicking to Will once more as he pulls his chair back in. Will immediately lifts his feet once again, returning them to where they were. He is amused at the way Hannibal takes what appears to be a long suffering sigh, his eyes closing momentarily, while his legs open again in complete contradiction to the rest of his body language. Will finishes his food quickly, then, choosing instead to put his concentration into the job at hand. Or at foot, as the case most certainly was.

Around them the conversations continue, and if there is anyone who notices Hannibal growing progressively quieter, more focussed on his food, they aren't saying anything. Once everyone finishes, however, he suddenly stands, all but slamming his cutlery down on the table.

“I must prepare dessert, now,” he says tersely. “Will, if you could help me in the kitchen? The rest of you, I must insist that you remain in your chairs, and allow me to clear your plates once the dessert is almost ready.”

There are murmurs of assent from the gathered group, and only a few looks of surprise when Hannibal rushes out of the dining room and into the kitchen without a further word. Will sits up, slipping his feet back into his shoes, then stands to follow him.

He barely makes it through the door before Hannibal pounces on him, shutting the door firmly behind him as he latches to Will's neck, his hand shoving roughly under Will's waistband.

“You vile, cruel creature,” he mutters, his other hand frantically undoing his own fly as he kisses up Will's neck. Will smiles, helping Hannibal free himself from his pants, then batting his hand away so he can undo his own.

“I told Alana I had a debt to repay,” he pants out, grasping Hannibal's cock as Hannibal grabs his. “And don't pretend that it doesn't turn you on, sneaking around like this with no one having the slightest idea.”

“I came closer than you could possibly know to throwing them all out and having you right there on the table,” Hannibal confesses, suppressing a groan as Will's hand moves faster, both of them eager to get the other off as quickly as possible. The thought that someone, _anyone_ could come walking through that door any moment and catch them like this goes to Will's head and before he knows it he's coming, spilling into Hannibal's hand. He has to bite his lip to keep the sound in, only the smallest of breathy groans managing to escape, and he knows that Hannibal is having _exactly_ the same thoughts. It only takes a few more jerks before he's coming, and coming hard, his semen almost too much for Will to contain. They stand there another few seconds, panting and letting out whispered laughs, the air of the kitchen cooling their exposed skin. Hannibal leans away, just enough to grab a couple of towels, and quickly they clean themselves off. Hannibal balls the dirty towels up to toss into the laundry, and then they check each other over, making sure their clothes at least are in order. There's not a lot can be done about the mussed hair, or the red tinge to each of their faces, but they can pass that off as being from working in the kitchen.

They hold each other then, a final refuge before they return to their public personas.

“You realise this means war,” whispers Hannibal into Will's ear. A shiver runs through him at the promise contained in the words, and he smiles once more.

 


End file.
